


A Promise Never Asked For And Never Given

by CaseyStar



Series: Merthur Party 2013 [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, bottom!Merlin, top!arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 06:43:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaseyStar/pseuds/CaseyStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Merlin disobeys Arthur direct request, he tries to placate his lover</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Promise Never Asked For And Never Given

**Author's Note:**

> Over on tumblr [ kcsplace](http://kcsplace.tumblr.com), so come say hello here if you want.

The kiss Merlin presses against Arthur’s forehead does nothing to soothe the furrowed brow and dark eyes.

“ _Mer_ lin,” Arthur warns, still angry even now.

“I’m fine,” Merlin promises, pressing another kiss to Arthur’s temple, another to his cheek but missing his lips when his lover turns his face away, though the hands at his hips grip tight enough to bruise. 

‘ _Ah,_ ’ thought Merlin, _‘he’s that sort of angry’_. Merlin tried to get Arthur to look at him, moving into his eye-line only for the other man’s gaze to skitter away, alighting on bed and table, fire and window, never settling.

“I did it for you,” he said, sliding one hand into Arthur’s hair to rest at his nape.

“I asked you not to.” Arthur’s eyes snapped to his, his fear shining brighter than his fury. “Right here, less than a day ago, I asked you not to.”  
It had been more of an order, snapped out in the dark hours of the previous morning when Merlin had once more suggested his plan of attack. It would have left the sorcerer alone and unguarded deep in the woods, vulnerable whilst he worked the spell that was required to drive back the enemy army. Merlin had suggested his plan three times previous only to have it vetoed, each time faster and more loudly than the last. 

“Men were dying, Arthur-”

“Had it not worked, more would have.”

_‘You would have_ ,’ Arthur wanted to scream. 

“It did work. Like I knew it would.” 

“What if it hadn’t, what then?”

_‘What would I have done then?’_

As if of their own accord, Arthur found his hands sliding around Merlin’s waist, linking in the small of his back to tug his lover closer between his split thighs, Merlin straddling Arthur’s legs when the chair allowed him no closer, setting his weight over the king’s lap where he is so clearly wanted.

“I will lay down my life to protect you and Camelot.”

“Even when I tell you not to?”

Merlin leant to tip his forehead against Arthur’s, cradling stubbled cheeks in his palms, his silence speaking louder than any words he could offer as he gazed into Arthur’s eyes, watching the anger drain away, replaced by dread and resignation.

When Merlin nudges his lips to Arthur’s, suckling the plump lower lip between his own to nip and tease, it’s more than a kiss. It’s reconnection. A promise to remain safe. An apology. Forgiveness. 

It’s a benediction.

Arthur’s clutched Merlin desperately closer, his kisses more desperate as he thrust his tongue past Merlin’s lips, teasing and stroking at Merlin’s own. Fumbling with Arthur’s belt, Merlin unbuckled the leather and cast it aside, pushing his hands up under the linen to splay across Arthur’s back, fingernails scoring the warm skin.

Mirroring his actions, Arthur tugged Merlin’s shirt out from under his belt, insistently dragging it upwards, up and over the sorcerer’s head, snorting his amusement when it tangled with Merlin’s scarf and left Merlin’s hair unkempt as Arthur threw the tunic to the floor, fingers trailing over the seam of pale skin and bright scarf before leaning forward and sinking his teeth into the wing of Merlin’s collarbone.

A moan slipped between Merlin’s slick lips urging Arthur on, Merlin sinking a hand into Arthur’s hair to keep him close, feeling his lover smile against his skin as Arthur smudged kisses down his sternum, pressing hard against the livid bruise that bloomed over the right side of Merlin’s chest. 

“I’m not sorry,” Merlin panted into the night air, tugging lightly on Arthur’s hair. “I’d do it again.”

Soothing the edges of the mark with gentle pecks, Arthur whispered sadly, “I know.”

“Arth-”

The king reared up to muffle Merlin’s words with his mouth, hands dropping down to cup Merlin’s buttocks and lifting, thighs burning as he stood, sliding to the side to lower Merlin onto the table, sweeping the maps and documents and instruments of war to the floor as he lay Merlin out like a banquet, desperate to feel that beloved body beneath him, shielded from a world that would see him dead.

“What do you need?” Merlin asked. He knows though, can feel how Arthur is rubbing against his hip, how Arthur needs to be reassured of his health, that Merlin is save and alive within the walls of Camelot, within his arms. Merlin lifts his hips as Arthur’s trembling fingers scrabble to release the knot of his breeches, tugging them and his underclothes down to his knees foiled by Merlin’s boots.

“For God’s-” Determined, Arthur had both boots off as well as the trousers, flinging them over his shoulder as he nuzzled against the delicate bones of Merlin’s ankles.

Laughing, feeling the mantle of fear lift from his shoulders, Merlin kicked our aimlessly. “You can get my clothes off when you want but I still have to dress you?”

“I’m your king.” Arthur’s tone was smug as he rolled back up to stand over Merlin, trailing one hand along the lean muscles of a thigh, tickling the crease of his groin, to scratch through the thatch of dark hair framing Merlin’s thickening cock.

“Yes, you are.” Merlin reached for Arthur, yanking at the white tunic that prevented him from pressing his skin to Arthur’s and rutting against his lover’s strength.

The table creaked its protest as Arthur lowered his weight, the legs squeaking against the stone floor. Merlin’s breathing hard by the time he’s able to drag Arthur’s shirt over his head, practically purring into Arthur’s mouth at the crush of chest hair against his own. Trying to keep some of his weight off of Merlin’s sore side leaves Arthur only one hand to scrabble at the laces of his trousers, only making the knots tighten and he grunts in frustration until Merlin slaps his hands away, curving one hand over the thickness he finds, rubbing the heel of his hand along the length, grinding small circles over the head until the fabric dampens with pre-come and Arthur’s thrusting into his hand mindlessly.

“Off, Merlin get them off,” he orders, stilling his hips with a groan to allow Merlin’s questing fingers to loosen the ties, pushing the breeches down, over the sweet curve of Arthur’s ass and freeing his cock before pulling him back down, Merlin immediately wrapping his legs around Arthur’s hips.

Lowering his head, Arthur nips at Merlin’s lips, evading when Merlin moved to deepen the kisses, drawing back when Merlin let his own head drop back to the table and Arthur rewards him by sliding his hand down between their bodies to wrap his large hand around Merlin’s cock, pumping the length hard and fast, just as he knows Merlin loves, delighted as Merlin’s back bowed and he pushed his hips up into Arthur’s hold, lean body undulating like a wave, groaning his disappointment when Arthur released him, only to suck on the fingers that pressed against red lips.

“Need them slick.” He’ll have Merlin conjure, or whatever it is he does, the oil from the cabinet but for now, this will do. It stirs something primal and dark in the pit of his stomach to know that it’s Merlin’s own spit that slicks the way for his fingers, that Merlin wants him there, thrusting up into tight heat as he prepares the way for his cock.

He’d been surprised the first time they did this, at how readily Merlin’s body gave way to him, accepting his intrusion with ease, body and mouth pleading for more as he’d writhed on red sheets, begging for Arthur to just _‘get on with it.’_ Though Merlin had always moulded to him, hadn’t he? 

Arthur pushes two fingers up into Merlin, the moan that spills between their lips going straight to Arthur’s cock as much as the feel of Merlin clenching down on his fingers as he twists them, thrusting slow, slow, fast, slow. Arthur knew that it wasn’t really necessary, that Merlin’s body would welcome him without this stretching but in all honesty this drove Arthur wild, stroking into Merlin’s body, watching him thrash and beg to be taken, hands clawing at Arthur, legs like a vice around his hips as he urged Arthur onto him, reaching for his cock and if he teased him enough, drove his own self-control to the very brink, Merlin would use his own strength and magic to roll them over, reaching back to hold Arthur steady as he took what he wanted, the long line of his throat revealed as he sought his pleasure.

Arthur digs the fingers of his free hand into the meat of Merlin’s thigh, pushing his thigh up and away so he could watch, only glancing up when Merlin’s moans coalesced into words, the cabinet opening on the other side of the room and the bottle of oil flying to the table top.

“Subtle,” Arthur muttered. Clearly, Merlin was of the belief he should get on with it. Removing his fingers, loving how Merlin’s eyelids fluttered at the thought he was getting what he wanted, fingernails scoring Arthur’s shoulders to urge him faster at the sound of the stopper only for him to struggle to sit up when instead of Arthur’s dick he received fingers, three this time, a hiss escaping through gritted teeth.

“Arthur,” he warned, gold licking at the edges of his eyes as they narrowed, one foot flailing as he aimed a kick at his king’s side. “Get on with it.”  
The unspoken _‘or I will’_ hung heavy in the air between them and when Arthur merely raised and eyebrow but made no move, Merlin grunted and reached for the oil, tipping the bottle over so the sweet oil spilt across the table and slicked his palm, reaching down between their bodies, rubbing over Arthur’s cock and positioning his lover just where he wanted him, digging a heel into the small of Arthur’s back as a last chance. 

Arthur was torn between watching himself slide in and gazing at the flush high on Merlin’s cheeks, how he bit down on that plump lower lip and the inviting column of his neck. No matter how much Merlin might grumble when Arthur left marks above where tunic or scarf could cover, Arthur knew that the sorcerer loved it. Arching forward, Arthur made his decision, sinking his teeth into the thick tendon and sucked, thrilling at the feel of Merlin’s fingers digging into his hair, holding his head close as Arthur laved the mark with his tongue, setting to make another along the prominent collarbone.

On his next thrust Arthur wrenched his head upwards to claim Merlin’s lips again, pressing his weight harder down onto Merlin, shoving the table across the floor, as their lips meet with a soft, wet sound.

Sliding his palms across the table top, Arthur gripped the edge, using the leverage to get more power into his thrusts, grinning into the kiss as Merlin’s mouth goes lax, a strangled grunt catching in his throat. He’s too keyed up, too terrified by thinking he’d lost Merlin to the enemy, too turned on by this gorgeous man that is all his, and the overwhelming feeling that it is always as good as the first time, to be gentle now, however much he might want to slowly lose himself in loving Merlin.

Merlin loves it when Arthur gets like this, when he just takes and takes what he wants. It reminds him of the boy he was when Merlin met him, before Merlin moulded him into who he could be, until the weight of the Kingdom weighed him down. He loves when Arthur remembers that just because Merlin is smaller than him, he is not fragile, that even before his magic comes into play, he has a strength all of his own. There’s almost not enough room for him to force his hand between their hips, the skin slick and red-hot as he pressed his cock up against Arthur’s stomach, pressing it into the crisp hairs of his belly, rubbing hard against the length in counterpoint to Arthur’s thrusts. Arthur grunts as the pleasure cause Merlin to clamp tighter around him, the vibration in his throat buzzing against Merlin’s lips as he sucks his own mark onto the king. 

It’s not as if there’s a soul in the land that isn’t aware of what they are to each other.

As his threadlike control slips away, Arthur’s thrusts becoming increasingly erratic, all rhythm lost for preference of fast and shallow, Arthur nudges his nose against the side of Merlin’s face until his lover lifts his mouth from his throat and opens his eyes; when he performs magic isn’t the only time that Merlin’s eyes glow gold. He’d not known that as he spilt, his eyes changed colour, until Arthur. There had never been another before Arthur. 

There will never be another.

Their lips part but don’t quite meet in a kiss, breathing each other’s air as they stare into each other’s eyes, but as ever, as he comes Merlin’s head rolls back, thudding against the table, though the gold flashes through his slit eyelids as he spills over his hand and their stomachs.

It’s only when the golden glow recedes that Arthur leans forward to run his tongue along Merlin’s throat and bites down hard on the swell of his shoulder to muffle his yell, Merlin’s body tightening in shock before relaxing, pliant in his completion as Arthur pumps deeper into him, and it’s only a few thrusts before he too is coming, hips stuttering until he lays still, hands aching as he released the table and filled his palms with the more welcome texture of Merlin’s skin, the couple petting each other as the sweat cooled on their bodies.

Merlin knew he was smiling, Arthur never hesitated to let him know that his post-sex expression was dopey, but he couldn’t help it. Camelot was safe as well as all those within her walls and Arthur was whole and alive in his arms.

“This does not mean that you were right, stop smiling,” Arthur complained into his shoulder, poking him viciously in the side, though not the bruised one this time.

It isn’t until later, when the table had been returned to its proper place, and the oil cleaned up and both men had retired to bed, that the melancholy of earlier stole over Merlin once more.

Lifting Arthur’s hand from where it was resting against his chest, Merlin raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss against each knuckle, along the fragile veins that laced the strong wrist and finally into the soft flesh of Arthur’s calloused palm.

“Please, Arthur,” Merlin whispered into the dark, “please never ask me not to save you.”


End file.
